An optimistic 6 year old girl with the whole world in front of her.
A crying 8 year old wishing her parents would hug her.
A damaged nine-year-old hoping for a bedtime story.
A changed 11 year old learning that it'll never be okay.
A broken 13 year old looking for an exit.
An angry 15 year old with a bag packed at her side.
A bitter 16 year old lost past the point of return.
A determined 18 year old ready to fly.
A recovering 19 year old seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.
A strong 21 year old seeing the whole world for the first time.

A body
three times
renewed

small cheap rooms where you walk
down the hall to the
bathroom can seem romantic to
a young writer.
even the rejection slips are
amusing because you are sure that
you are
one of the best.

but while sitting there
looking across the room
at the portable typer
waiting for you on the table
you are really
in a sense
insane

as you wait for
one more night to arrive to sit and
type Immortal Words--but now you
just sit and think about it
on your first afternoon in a strange city.

looking over at the door you
almost
expect a beautiful woman to walk in.

being young
helps get you through
many senseless and terrible
days.

being old
does
too.

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be—
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands

You are tea,
serene in your surroundings.

                                                  ­                                                         I am coffee,
                                                         ­                        attention always bounding.

Your colour a milkish pale,
creamy optimism.

                                                      ­                                           I am taken black,
                                                          ­                                           bitter cynicism.

Two sugars,
to match your disposition.

                                                   ­                                                      None for me,
                                                             ­             I'll maintain my grim affliction.


                                               We differ so much,
                                                     it's obscene.
                                                  
                                                   But in the end
                                               we're both caffeine.

As I lay here in my bed
          I've decided
I'm going to rid these voices from my head
          Or die trying

You awake from your sleep next
to me, I see beauty before my
eyes you smile look at me, you
go for a kiss then exhale, its like
something died in your mouth
during the night so powerful I
fall out of bed.

My god I can taste it in my nose,
my eyes water, you ask did I hurt
my self with my fall, I have to tell
her the truth.

She looks open mouthed, I have to
be polite and ask her to shut her
mouth. To extinguish that breath
use mouth wash, toothpaste, Jesus
something just to rid you of this
death breath you keep breathing
out towards me.